Dreams
by 27hope
Summary: Ever since he met her, Oliver Queen's dreams have been filled with Felicity Smoak.


**A/N: I got this plot bunny after reading a thread on tumblr. It got me thinking about all the times Oliver could have dreamed of Felicity and what all those dreams might have entailed. **

**I hope you like this look at those dreams as their relationship progresses!**

**As always, I love to hear what you think! Thanks for all the support! :)**

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The first time he dreamt of her he didn't even know he was dreaming about her.

It was after a nightmare so bad that he ended up pacing around his room, doing push ups until his body couldn't' go any longer and he fell asleep due to exhaustion.

But this time when he dreamt, it was warm and filled with bright colors; pinks and golds surrounding him with a comfort that he'd long forgotten existed after five years in his own purgatory. Someone was talking to him, but he couldn't make out the voice or the face - all he knew was he was safe.

It wasn't until he walked into her office again and those same feelings washed over him that he realized it had been her in his dream. He'd stopped just inside the door and watched her hunched over her tablet for a moment, taking in that feeling and letting it settle deep into his bones.

He wasn't sure when he'd feel it again.

The second time he dreamt about her she was in danger. It was after her joining the team; after the dodger and Helena returning.

It was filled with running and images of blonde hair strewn on the ground and empty panda flats behind desks.

He was never fast enough, strong enough or good enough to save her in those dreams.

And when he woke he vowed once more that he'd keep her safe - whatever the cost.

The third time he dreamt about her, she wore a red dress and held on to him tight as they swung across a unseen void. Her lips brushed his neck and his body responded with a desire so fierce and swift when he woke he ended up in the shower, cold water beating down him as he tried to forget the feeling of his hands on her shoulders and the look of complete trust in her eyes.

He couldn't…and he found he didn't want to.

After returning to the island, his dreams were filled with her. Some warm and comforting, others filled with a deep ache of loss.

One particularly bad night he dreamt of Tommy's death. His best friend taking his last breath in his arms and when he'd turned he'd been back in the lair, beams crumpled around him, blood covering golden hair as she lay sprawled and unconscious on the Foundry floor.

That dream always ended with him looking back and forth between Tommy and her, a yell of despair torn from his throat as he woke covered in cold sweat - his only solace found in that one of the images was a lie.

And he prayed that she was still safe. That if nothing else, his departure would keep her safe and out of harms way.

When he'd fall back to sleep, he'd dream of her in his arms - in his bed, a smile on his face, comfort and hope and love surrounding him.

He wasn't sure which dreams left a bigger whole in his already brusied and battered heart.

In the months after his return to Starling City, he dreamt of her at work, sometimes in the foundry. But always by his side.

He'd hear her voice saying his name and let it wash over him, that same comfort and ease washing over him that he'd felt in his first dreams about her.

Only this time, it was stronger and deeper.

After Russia his dreams took on a different tone. He dreamt of her in his arms, limbs entwined with his, heart beating fast as he felt every inch of her pressed against every inch of him.

He filled her, heard her gasps and his name on her lips until they both fell over that edge and collapsed together.

She'd smile sleepily at him, and he'd stay inside of her as long as possible, before tucking her up against his chest.

Sometimes the dreams ended there. Most of the times, a knock would startle them and faces would shift and he'd stare at the somehow open door and see her disappointed and hurt eyes that cut him so sharply and he couldn't breath and he'd wake with her name on his lips in a desperate cry, a plea for her.

He didn't go back to sleep after those dreams.

He didn't sleep very much for weeks after The Count.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hands that weren't his trailing through her hair; the terrified look on her face as she shook with fear.

He saw those needles plunging into her neck and her lifeless body hitting the cold marble floor.

He heard the cruel laugh of the Count and then nothingness.

He woke with rage swimming through his veins. He didn't sleep after those dreams either.

He knew then how much he cared. He knew there was no going back. He knew there was no choice to make. It would always be her.

While she was in Central City, he dreamed of her more than ever. Of blonde hair swishing as she turned in her chair and blue eyes looking at him from behind her square frames. He dreamed of her smiles and the way she'd felt in his arms, the instantaneous peace that had settled over him when she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight.

He dreamed of dropping his bow and holding her with both arms, pressing his face against her hair and breathing her in.

He dreamt of holding her in bed, her head tucked under his chin, hair splayed over his chest, tickling his skin, as she drew patterns on his chest, bright fingernails in stark contrast to the black ink of his Bratva tattoo.

He dreamt of lazy morning kisses and undressing her from his own shirt.

Everything he dreamt made his heart ache more with each passing day that she wasn't back.

And then she was and the pain was even worse because she was standing right in front of him but she felt farther away than ever.

When he told her maybe Barry had been dreaming about her, all he could think about where the dreams of his own.

Slade Wilson brought back the nightmares. Cold, dark, bloody and foreboding dreams of everyone he loved scattered around him, lifeless.

Her blonde hair matted by red, glasses askew as she lay on the Foundry floor, her hand outstretched towards him.

And then Slade took his mother and he didn't sleep for days.

After returning from Lian Yu for the third time, his dreams were a mixture of light and dark.

Blades pressed against her throat, never getting across the room in time, not quick enough with his bow, not strong enough to save her.

But also wide eyes staring up at him in wonder as he whispered words so long on his heart that he didn't realize he'd been holding them back until they were out of his lips and filling the space between them.

He dreamt of his lips on hers, his hands cupping her face and showing her he meant it - every word.

After returning from Lian Yu for the third time, he dreamt of a future - of every day and every night, of tender kisses and passion filled nights; of tiny cries and child giggles; of blonde curls and blue eyes and everything he never thought he could have and knew she was his future.


End file.
